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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28154493">Blood on the carpet</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/EWM/pseuds/EWM'>EWM</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Prodigal Son (TV 2019)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Ainsley Whitly forgetting what she's done, Ainsley Whitly in trouble, Angst, Covering Up A Murder, Gen, Malcolm Bright Needs a Hug, Malcolm Bright being an amazing big brother, Malcolm bright emotional whump, Murder, Nicholas Endicott got what he deserved, Trauma, malcolm bright angst</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 17:29:10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,166</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28154493</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/EWM/pseuds/EWM</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Okay so I'm super excited about Prodigal Son season 2. All the trailers have got me squee!!! :D</p><p>Having seen a few of them, this is my suggestion of how the opening scene after Ainsley stabs Endicott might play out. Feedback welcome!</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Malcolm Bright &amp; Ainsley Whitly, Malcolm Bright &amp; Martin Whitly</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>33</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Blood on the carpet</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Malcolm stared at his little sister, her blood covered face, he red streaked hands and clothes. His heart was beating like crazy.</p><p>
  <em>“Ainsley…can you hear me??”</em>
</p><p>Her eyes were vacant, she didn’t respond. She was shaking.</p><p><em>“I II II did..”</em> Ainsley started to stammer</p><p><em>“You did nothing Ainsley, you hear me? I did this.”</em> Malcolm responded immediately.</p><p>“II I I” Ainsley responded again, beginning to shake more violently.</p><p>
  <em>“Ainsley…listen to me. You didn’t do anything. I did all this. What you’re going to do now. You’re going to go upstairs get rid of this blood, you’re going to… you’re going up to your old room, you remember your  old bathroom ? Go in there and strip everything off and wash every bit of you. Get rid of every trace of blood, then you’re…going to get changed into some of your old clothes. Mother still keeps something things here, I know that.   Leave the clothes in a pile on the bathroom floor. Then you’re going to get into your old bed and  fall asleep okay?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Malcolm?? What will you do?”</em>
</p><p><em>“I am going to fix…this.”</em> Malcolm said gesturing to the bloodied mess on the floor. <em>“Now go okay?”</em></p><p>Ainsley stared at her big brother for a little while, her kind gentle big brother who had always looked out for her. Malcolm, he always protected her, he always took all the crap from their father, their mom and now…he would fix this….he would fix everything. Her mind didn’t connect with the body at her feet, the blood that covered clothes or even the pain in her hand, where she had stabbed Endicott so violently that her muscles were spasming. Instead she slowly turned away and started to walk</p><p>
  <em>“Ains! Wait”</em>
</p><p>She stopped</p><p>
  <em>“Loose the heels okay.”</em>
</p><p>Obediently she took off the shoes and left them on the blood-stained carpet and departed. Malcolm stared after her, he hoped that she would head upstairs like he had asked too, but he had more immediate problems to deal with. He stared at Endicott’s damp, crimson corpse at his feet. He thought cynically, it couldn’t happen to a nicer man. Part of him was glad that Endicott was dead, he’d put his family through so much, not just his family, Eve had died because of him, Gil still might, at least now he wouldn’t be there to torment them anymore.</p><p>Bright shifted his mind to the task at hand. The blood was starting to seep into the plush carpet that his mother adored. His mind slowed down despite the necessity for speed, what would the police look for if they were there? If he was the crime scene, what he look for? The crimson stains would have to go and the body obviously. But how to get rid of it? Garbage bags? They were easily disposable and more difficult to trace. Every house in America had some equivalent of them, that was the best option and how to tie the body? Tape, duct tape was the best option, again extremely common and hard to track back to an individual. Gloves were key too, he would need to keep his fingerprints off this scene, Ainsley’s were another matter. They would be all over Endicott as well fragments from her skin and hair. He’d have to burn the body, but he couldn’t do that immediately. He’d have to stash it and come back for it. Then it hit him; his father’s basement, study (the irony was not lost on him). Malcolm went into the kitchen too look for what he needed, a large pile of garbage bags and tape, he found them surprisingly fast stashed in the back of the larder presumably by his mother’s maids. He also found cleaning stuff and some plastic gloves,  he went back to the living room and began to work. He put two garbage bags over each half of Endicott, securing them with tape. He put a large piece of tape in the middle as well in an effort to stop the blood coming out.</p><p>There was a small shaft at the back of their living room, where he could in theory push the body down, so he wouldn’t have to drag it down the stairs. He heaved the body with all his strength, straining, at one point his hands slipped a little bit and he almost dropped the legs, but he did make it to the shaft. He put the legs in and then pushed the rest of it down, part of him was tempted to kick the body, rage and exhaustion kicking in. But his rational mind was still in command and he stopped himself. He raced down the stairs to his father’s old study and then was Endicott was in a crunched up heap. Malcolm pulled the body out , he would have to put it in a trunk for now, the basement and downstairs rooms were cold, so it wouldn’t start to smell too quickly. That would give him a little bit of leeway.</p><p>He dragged the body out onto the floor in front of one of the main trunks and storage cases. He found the first one that was open and bigger enough to fit him and the rug in. He pushed the body in, of course it did not fit. Malcolm moved Endicott round, he pushed hard onto Endicott’s shoulder, putting his whole weight on the body until he heard a pop. Once Endicott’s shoulder was loose he found he could bend the body a bit more easily. He pushed the head inside and crushed the man’s legs in at the bottom. The knife was ‘safely wound up’ inside the body and the plastic. It was a tight fit, not ideal, but the best he could do currently. He shut the lid of the trunk and pushed it back into place in the cellar.</p><p>Then he shot back upstairs. The pile of cleaning stuff was where left it as well as extra gloves and yet more bags. He tossed the gloves he was wearing and put on another set. After that he began to scrub as he never had before (to be fair scrubbing on his hands and knees was never really Malcom’s thing anyway). He scrubbed across the floor and the sections of carpet, he scraped around the edges of the wood, he sprayed and sprayed until the stains started to disappear, his OCD nature turning into a perverse kind of advantage. In a surprisingly short period, the living room was clean and smelled heavily of bleach, He put the products back where he found them, he doubted his mother would even notice they were gone or depleted.</p><p>Next the blood on himself, it was minimal. Well it was over his arms and hands and there were bits everywhere, but…there was also trash bags where he found the cleaning supplies. Or maybe he should try and wash everything? Yes that was better.  The shoes would have to be washed too. He grabbed his sister’s heels and tossed them in a bag and crept up stairs to find his little sister. He found her singing in the bathtub.</p><p>It was a strange sight, the bathroom of childhood, bright pink with white swans (Ainsley’s favourite as a kid and a rare lapse of decorating judgement on their mother’s part). The bath and sink were smaller too, built for a child really, Malcolm came in shielding his eyes and nearly knocking into the bloodied pile of clothes on the floor. He grabbed them quickly and took them away. Ainsley didn’t register his presence at all. As he moved towards the stairs, he realised, he would have to burn them. That was the only way to destroy all evidence of what…his sister had done. That was…what his father would do, burn the clothes or soak them in acid maybe. Nope, his mind was not going in that direction. He was not doing what his father would do, although burning them was a good idea. Nope, he wasn’t going there. For now he took a left into his own old bedroom and removed his own clothes and shoes. He put them with Ainsley’s stuff in the double lined baggy. He prayed it would be enough, nothing seemed to be leaking currently.  He put the bag onto his bed and found the shower. Then he scrubbed every part of himself, making his hands and arms raw, even under his nails and his hair. One he stepped out, he found an old t-shirt and trousers buried in his drawers of his old bedroom and put them on. Then he went outside, he took a quick look around, he was aware it was mad going out with a set of blood stained clothes in his hands. But too anyone else, he would look like an ordinary new yorker, just taking out the garbage that was it. Of course he wasn’t going to dump there. It was early hours and no one was about. He shoved the bag into his trunk and got back to his house as fast as he could.</p><p>By the time he returned he realised his sister was still in the bath singing. He went up to his sister’s room and knocked on the door this time. He found her in her old bedroom, with damp hair singing to herself, she stopped when he peaked inside. Malcolm came in quietly, keeping an easy smile on his face</p><p>
  <em>“Hey Ains, you doing okay?”</em>
</p><p>She smiled and nodded at him, then she ran forward and threw her arms around him. Malcolm was struck by how little she was without her high heels. Her face was scrubbed and a little pink, all the make up was gone and her hair was going into it’s more natural wavy state. She could be 14 again, she looked so young, so vulnerable. He had to do this, he had to protect her no matter what. This was the right thing to do, he told himself over and over again as he gently led her back to the bed.</p><p>
  <em>“Ainsley, get into bed. The best thing for you to do now is try and sleep”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Okay, Malcolm, you always look out for me.”</em>
</p><p>He smiled sadly at her, some part of him blamed himself for all of this. If he had never gotten involved with the NYPD, with his father again, maybe…maybe none of this would have happened</p><p>
  <em>“Come on, sleep. Do you what you big brother tells you to do.”</em>
</p><p>Ainsley giggled and obediently got under the eiderdown covers. He breathed a little sigh of relief, if she could sleep, recover, the trauma…well the trauma would still be there. But she would be safe there for now. He made to get up, when she grabbed his wrist.</p><p>
  <em>“Malcolm”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“What is it Ainsley?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Will you sing to me?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“What??”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“You used to do it when I was little. Can you now?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“You remember that?? You were what eight when I did it?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Of course I remember it, you used to do it when I was frightened. You said singing sent away the nightmares.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Oh Ainsley”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Please Malcolm!”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“III …okay….let me think…”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Sing mockingbird!”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“You know it’s not really called that right?”</em>
</p><p><em>“I know Malcolm, I just…I think I need the monsters chasing away…it sounds crazy. But III"</em> Ainsley started to stammer again, so Malcolm pushed himself up further up the bed and put his hand onto hers</p><p>
  <em>“Don’t worry Ainsley…I’ll make the monsters go away”</em>
</p><p>Her smile broke his heart, he was doing the right thing. He had to keep Ainsley safe and protected and it was as simple as that</p><p>
  <em>“Hush, little baby don't you cry, hush, little baby don't say a word, Malcolm's gonna buy you a mocking bird, And if that mocking bird don't sing, Malcolm's gonna buy you a diamond ring”</em>
</p><p>He went on for a little while putting his own name in each place, when they were kids it used to make baby Ainsley laugh. Now the forensic part of his mind said he did it not only to make her smile and laugh, but also as a way of not dealing with his own suppressed trauma (probably correct). Whatever the reason, Ainsley shut her eyes and by the end of the song, Malcolm picked up on his sister’s snores. She was sound sleep, her hand still loosely tied up in his. Quietly he unhooked his fingers  and pushed the covers up over his sister and and left.</p><p>Once he was back downstairs he scanned the living room for any speck of blood and dust, he went back upstairs at one point to check his own room, his own bathroom, he could find nothing. His mind strayed back to the body buried downstairs, maybe he could get rid of it now. He was about to move to his father’s cellar, when his mother called him.</p>
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